


First Watch

by ExpectoPadoughnut



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Book 5: Empire of Storms, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectoPadoughnut/pseuds/ExpectoPadoughnut
Summary: Lorcan offers to take the first watch but Elide can't sleep.
Relationships: Aedion Ashryver/Lysandra, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn, Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre, Fenrys/Gavriel (Throne of Glass), Manon Blackbeak/Dorian Havilliard
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	First Watch

**Author's Note:**

> **I cannot deal with the feels I get from these two. Am I right?**

Lorcan wasn't sure how much further his magic could carry them. Elide's usually delicate frame was becoming wearier and heavier every mile. She had settled for allowing him to half-drag her, half-carry her through the stone marshes. When it was his turn to shoulder the mirror, he trusted no one but Gavriel to guide Elide through the rough terrain. The older Fae had the decency to stay ahead of him when he realised that Lorcan had spent most of his turn looking over his shoulder to ensure that Elide was still there.

And now the light was failing them and it was becoming colder with every passing minute. The weary band of mismatched Fae, Demi-Fae, witchlings and Kings eventually settled within the ruins of a dilapidated stone building. It felt familiar, how the Cadre now split themselves equally amongst the jobs to be done. Fenrys and Aedion had opted to hunt with Rowan taking an aerial view. Gavriel would stay behind with the women, healing where he could. And himself, Lorcan, opted to wade through marshy bogs to higher grounds and gather whatever he could in the way of dry sticks and moss. The bitch-queen's magic would take a long time to replenish before she could even think of kindling a fire for them to cook on. 

That night, after a meal of something slimy and the last of their water sacs, he took the first watch. Settling himself against a tumbling stone wall on the opposite side of where they all camped around the fire, Lorcan leaned his head against the cold wall and breathed easy at last.

The conversation of his travelling companions had died out some time ago, replaced with soft breaths and gentle snores. There were occasional snorts and shuffling which he knew too well as being Gavriel. Despite the cold air biting away at his tolerance, he grinned. 

He was weary from the Ilkin attack and already tired of the bitch-queen's company - not to mention her hold over Rowan - and the white-haired witch…now that was an interesting development he thought. He bristled, recalling her suspicious glares and threatening words should he harm Elide. 

He had been terrified, truly, when the queen's magic had rained upon them. In five centuries he couldn't recall feeling pure panic like that; it was enough to send him into a frenzy, and he threw his magic around them and across the continents in desperation. He would have done anything to save her, even if it meant - 

"Lorcan?" she whispered, peering around the stone wall. 

He whipped his head to the side, almost to his feet before she settled his nerves with a gentle smile. "Everything is fine," she told him. 

He blinked. "I thought-" he paused to frown. "Shouldn't you be sleeping? It's freezing out here and we've got a long walk to go yet."

She tightened her cloak around her small frame in response to his musings and his instincts writhed beneath his self-restraint. 

Her gaze fell to the wild marshes beyond and she shrugged."I couldn't sleep," she admitted, rubbing her upper arms against the cold air. She looked away again and said softly. "I guess I've become used to your company."

Some emotion flashed in his eyes before he cocked his head to one side and said playfully, "Must you sound so tortured at that idea? Can a man not get five minutes of peace." He made sure the corner of his lips twitched enough for her to know he was joking because truthfully he wanted to be alone with her in the ruins again, just before those bastard Ilkin showed up. 

She made a show of jutting her chin in the air and half turned away with a shrug. "I'm sure one of the other males will have room on their sleeping roll. It is very cold this evening after all and Fenrys did offer me his cloak-" 

He managed to leash a snarl in his throat at her playful threats. "Come over here woman before I change my mind," he half demanded, patting his lap cautiously and giving her time to back out - just in case. 

She came to his side in all of three strides and he took her much smaller hand in his own to help lower her into his lap. Her legs stretched the length of his own and she crossed them at the ankle in such a way that they fit perfectly against his own crossed boots. She leaned back with a sigh - one he thought sounded at ease - and wiggled herself into a comfortable position. 

Lorcan schooled centuries of military training into keeping his body rigid. Her backside was placed far too conveniently for any wiggling and restlessness to go unanswered. _'Keep your cock in your pants '_ he warned himself. _'Look what happened last time'._

She emitted a small sigh and reclined against his chest and shoulders. His breathing hitched. It did not surpass his attention that her neck was on full display, and he was sure if it wasn't for her backside still writhing in his lap that he would have been tempted to bite down. 

"Are you trying to kill a man?" he whispered into her ear. She smelled like campfire and untamed wilderness, and there lurking amongst the scent of Gavriel's earlier touch, he could smell her fertile womanhood. Not as strong now mixed amongst the other scents in camp. Lorcan had opted to breathe through his mouth when he caught Rowan's and Aelin's scent enveloping their makeshift camp earlier. 

"What do you mean?" she asked too innocently, turning her head a fraction so he could make out her teasing smile on display. 

He cocked a playful eyebrow, admiring her sheer brazenness. A line had obviously been crossed that night before they were disturbed by the Ilken attack. It was one he was sure they had been tiptoeing around for weeks now, and he was thankful for his ever-present military training to reign in the juvenile flutter he felt in his chest. Where had it started he wondered? He remembered her challenging him about the knife-throwing act with the carnival troupe, or was it the missing shirt he had sold? Of course, he had only sold the shirt in a jealous retaliation when he saw her beckoning a group of young men into her fortune-telling tent - though he would never admit to that jealous rage. What Fenrys wouldn't give to hear that he had joined a carnival; all for this small and feisty woman in his lap. 

"What I mean, Elide, is this," he whispered into her ear and bucked his hips sharply against her backside, letting her feel exactly what her restlessness was doing to him. She shrieked in surprise at the sudden movement, and Lorcan heard an interrupted snore and murmuring coming from the camp behind them. But he didn't care so much if they heard, especially when Elide twisted around to straddle his thighs, a knee either side of his hips. 

Her lips were slightly parted when she faced him. He couldn't peel his eyes away from the plump pout that looked so inviting. It was his turn to become restless now. Her spread legs cradled his thighs and he knew if he inclined his hips just enough that his strained erection would feel some relief. 

She brought her palms to his rough cheeks and he stilled to allow her hands roam his face. Her eyes never left his. She trailed light circles over his temples and swept her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and couldn't help but moan when her fingers tugged gently at his dark locks. 

When her lips met him with a warm, plump embrace, he groaned loudly. His hands left the cold ground beneath him and circled her hips, across her firm backside and squeezing gently. He ran his palms up her back, pulled her body against his to feel her breasts round and full against his chest. He couldn't help but grind the bulge in his leather pants against the warm folds between her legs, and when her tongue traced his bottom lip asking for entry, he opened his mouth to allow her in. 

She tasted of herbs and weak tea, courtesy of their new travelling companions meagre supplies. Her mouth was warm and her kisses timid but confident. She gasped a small surprise when her tongue found a gap in his teeth and she pulled back to take a breath. He could have grumbled at the loss of contact, but her hands found his face again and she ran her thumb along his bottom lip. 

"Your tooth-" 

"Was knocked out in a fight in some dingy tavern in Doranelle. I never bothered to have it fixed," he told her.

His hands trailed down her sides before she could ask anymore and settled on her tighs. He squeezed gently, his eyes now roaming south to the apex between her legs. She wore loose pants tightened with some strings. Gripping her thighs was all he could do to keep his restless hands away until she allowed him further. 

His breathing was uneven now. They had been so close last time before being disturbed and now they had a wall between them and a camp of warriors. He would take her right here in his lap, to hell with the audience. 

"Lorcan," she breathed, and he knew it wasn't a question, just a call of longing and need. 

Her hand had found the bulge in his pants. She palmed him experimentally and his head dropped back against the stone wall. A mortifying groan escaped his throat. The sleeping camp would have heard that one he knew. But her hand was heavy against his aching cock and the small relief from the torment he felt was too good to care who could hear them. It's not like the Cadre hadn't walked in on each other before… 

She bit her bottom lip, chewing it until he could stand the sight no more and pulled her swollen lips down to meet his again. This time he demanded entry into her mouth, exploring the warm crevice. Her hands twisted through his hair, tugging every so often and driving forth his instincts to reclaim dominance.

He would have flipped her there and then, onto her stomach and claimed her if she had let him, but a throaty cough interrupted his heaving instincts and he froze. His senses had been so overridden with the primal urge to dominate the woman who had him pinned with her legs that he hadn't heard someone approach. A dangerous move. 

"What?" he snarled, his dark eyes blazing up at the intruder. 

The young king Dorian smirked down at him, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Aelin says you've got five seconds to remove your hulking hands from the Lady of Perranth," said Dorian with amusement. Lorcan snarled up at him. "Manon says you've got a heartbeat to remove your hands, by which time now several have passed, and Rowan-" 

Lorcan's primal snarl rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest at the mention of the other Faes name. The king, to his credit, only flinched a fraction before continuing."Rowan says to throw a pot of water over you if you don't settle down because your scent is all over the camp."

"Tell Rowan to come and face me like a real male if he's so inclined," growled Lorcan. "And as for the witch and your-" 

"Zero heartbeats left, Salvatarre," he heard the white-haired witch roar from behind the wall. The king smirked down at him and shrugged before pivoting on his heel and leaving. 

Elide placed a hand on his chest. His heart thumped wildly beneath her touch. He could feel her thumb trailing his skin soothingly while she spoke." What does he mean your scent is all over camp?" 

He held her hips gently, resting his head against the wall. He sighed. Her fingers were kneading the tension in his shoulders and his agitation melted. _Fucking Whitethorn._ "You won't like it if I tell you."

"Well, it can't be worse than having the whole place overhear us. Not to mention being mothered," she added bitterly. 

He smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. She leaned into his touch slightly. "Whitethorn means he can smell my...arousal. Our hearing isn't the only heightened sense. We can also smell each other's emotions in a way, but in particular, we can detect _rutting_ and other engaging things." He offered a feral grin. "It's a primal instinct to warn other males away."

It took great effort not to laugh at the blush spreading across her cheeks. Elide looked mortified at the thought and a strange feeling swept through him. It confused him, whatever it was. This feeling made him want to hold her close, nip her neck playfully, tease her unmercifully, and then hold her while they fell asleep. His fingers itched to touch every part of her. Not to lust over her, no, just to be with her. To exist as part of her world from now on. 

She placed a gentle kiss on his rough jaw. "I should sleep then." She used his shoulders to push herself upright and added devilishly, "Not that you have made it any easier, just so you know."

His eyes flashed. "I'm flattered." She rolled her eyes at him and made to walk away. "My watch is over soon. I'll be there shortly," he told her. 

She smiled over her shoulder. "I'll be waiting." She disappeared between a gap in the wall and he listened to her footsteps the whole way back to camp. 

Shortly, when Aedion came to relieve him and take the second watch, he departed the wall with a sharp nod. The camp was quiet when he returned. His companions had seemed to pair off respectively. Rowan and Aelin were curled in a corner, Fenrys had taken his wolf form and was sleeping nearest the fire - his fur no doubts keeping the greedy bastard warm - and Gavriel slept on his front. The oldest Fae among them snored unevenly. 

Lorcan picked his way through the sleeping bodies, keen to avoid the iron tooth witch who slept close to the king. He found Elide curled on her side against a wall opposite Rowan and Aelin. He could have grumbled at the inconvenience of it if she hadn't lifted her head to smile at him through sleepy eyes. She scooted closest to the wall and he dropped beside her, shielding her from the wind as was their adapted sleeping position since travelling the roads. He lay on his outstretched arm, allowing her to fuss with the blanket she knew never really covered him and always fell off his shoulders. But he didn't care. He was laying with his back to a warm fire and this woman curled against his chest. 

He would get no sleep with his back turned to this group of weary travellers. The blood oath to execute him still hummed between Gavriel and Fenrys. He could feel its presence when they thought he wasn't looking. He didn't blame them, no; he too was bound by the same allegiance and had been called forth to commit atrocious acts under its claim. The time would come when Rowan's loophole would fail and he hoped that Elide was nowhere near when the two Fae came to strip him down. 

In his arms, she sighed peacefully. For now, this would do.


End file.
